


Turn for the Worse

by deinvati



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 12:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: Sure, Eames was late.  But he was neverthislate.In which we watch Arthur go into a totally normal and appropriate panic spiral when his completely platonic co-worker-and-nothing-else doesn't report for work one morning.





	Turn for the Worse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mahons_ondine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahons_ondine/gifts).



> For mahons_ondine, who gave the world's most fabulous prompt, which I have not done justice, but which will hopefully still satisfy.
> 
> Enjoy, my dear!
> 
> Special thanks to [brookebond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond) for the beta and the title!
> 
> Prompt: Damsel-in-distress Eames

Eames was late. As usual. Arthur tapped his pen on his Moleskin and scowled. Of course he'd planned for Eames to be late— Arthur's meetings were always set for mid-morning— but Eames didn't usually cut it this close. His schedule would be thrown off if Eames didn't show up in the next 20 minutes.

Arthur debated, then sent a quick text.

- _If you can't be punctual, at least bring coffee. -A_

He put his phone on his desk and refused to look at it while he reviewed a quarterly statement. He could have sworn he heard it buzz though, that's the only reason he picked it up, but there was no badly spelled reply waiting for him.

Arthur sighed through his nose and stopped himself when he noticed he was tapping his pen again. He printed out the final page of the quarterly report for Eames, which contained the CEO's hastily scribbled signature, and put it on the desk he'd claimed. Then he shrugged into his jacket and announced he was going for coffee.

Three coffee orders later, he came back to an architect and a chemist laughing at something, but no forger smirking along with them.

"Hey, Arthur! Are we doing the meeting now?"

"Yeah," Arthur grunted, setting down the tray of drinks. "Let's get started."

The meeting was surprisingly short without Eames there to poke holes in his plans or throw out completely unnecessary alternatives to make it "more interesting." Arthur did, however, notice one thing he would need to look into because he could hear Eames' voice in his head pointing it out as he spoke. He kept his phone in his pocket and only checked it once.

_-Started the meeting without you; will fill you in when you get here. -A_

Half an hour later, when there was still no reply, Arthur broke down and called. There was no answer, and Arthur hung up without leaving a message.

There was no reason to be concerned. Arthur stretched his leg out when he noticed he was jiggling his knee. Eames probably just went out last night and had too much to drink and was sleeping it off. Or maybe he brought someone back to his hotel room and they were busy having morning-after sex.

Arthur gritted his teeth, his phone already in his hand and a text half written before he caught himself. No. That was none of his business, even if he'd thought they were finally getting somewhere. Having a conversation with Eames, late at the warehouse, just the two of them, leaning back in their office chairs and talking about nothing— that wasn't the start of a relationship. That was being co-workers. Maybe friends.

What if… what if Eames had skipped town? What if he'd found out something about the job and had cut his losses before everything went south?

Arthur called the hotel.

"No, Mr. Thomas hasn't checked out, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thank you."

He hung up and unclenched his jaw. On an impulse, Arthur checked Eames' GPS tracker in his phone, but it was still at the hotel. Alright, this was getting old.

_-Where are you? -A_

Surprisingly, there was a delayed buzz and a reply.

_-darling help imdying_

Arthur stared at his phone as his heartbeat roared in his ears and he remembered. He remembered that he and Eames hadn't been talking about nothing the night before. Eames had been telling him about the last time he'd been in town, and how there had been a poker game… and a winning hand… and an accusation… and how Eames was going to go straight back to his hotel room because there was no sense in—

" — pushing his luck," Arthur breathed. "Oh, shit."

"Arthur?"

"Shut it down," Arthur barked, standing. "All of it. We've been compromised. Get out of town, split up, radio silence for 48 hours."

He received dual nods and a flurry of activity, and Arthur was always the last one out of the warehouse, wiping off fingerprints and shredding files, but not this time. This time he was grabbing his jacket and he was running.

He was on the phone as he ran, weaving in and out of people.

"Hello?"

"I may need a doctor, are you going to be around?"

"Arthur? God damn it, for the last time, I am a  _vet._  And I am not digging any more bullets out of you. One was enough."

"It's not for me," Arthur panted as he dodged an elderly woman and brushed past an asshole in a bad suit.

"Then I'm definitely not digging bullets out of some random person."

"Alex. Please."

There was a sigh on the other end and Arthur could see the hotel so he poured on speed.

"Fine. When?"

Arthur pulled the phone from his ear to vault the fence surrounding the hotel gardens. "I'm three hours away from you. I'll call when we're on the way."

There was another pause as Arthur squeezed sideways through the too-slow automatic doors and he bit his tongue to keep from begging.

"Three hours? Is that going to be in time?"

Arthur managed to catch an empty elevator and hoped his luck held as he jammed the button for Eames' floor.

"God, I hope so," he breathed, his head between his legs as he tried to catch his breath. "I'll let you know."

"Okay," came the nervous but familiar voice on the other end. "Be careful, little brother."

"Always."

He heard her snort before he hung up, but he was shoving his phone into his pocket and smoothing back his hair while he waited impatiently for the doors to open. When they finally did, he looked for Eames' room, cursing himself that he hadn't looked at the layout of the hotel at some point beforehand.

The 'Do Not Disturb' sign was hanging on the knob and Arthur pressed his ear against the door. He couldn't hear anything, no voices, not even the soft hum of a TV. There was no sign of movement through the backward fisheye of the peephole or breaking up the dim light coming from the crack under the door. Arthur checked the hallway before pulling the kit from his inner jacket pocket.

He had the lock open in 45 seconds, a new record for him. He drew his gun.

Arthur eased the door open, quickly clearing the bathroom and behind the door, and keeping an eye on the still form on the bed.

"Eames?"

He kept his voice low, but the form shifted.

"Arthur?"

Arthur eased forward slowly. There was only one more place an intruder could be. He adjusted his grip to aim at the floor and stepped around the bed.

Nothing.

"Arthur? 'Sat you?"

Arthur frowned and did another quick sweep before closing the hotel room door and re-holstering his gun. "Eames, what's going on?"

"Darling, you came!"

Eames was still laying on his stomach, unmoving. Arthur flipped on the lamp by the bed and peeled back the blanket, prepared for blood.

What he got was an annoyed hiss and a flurry of crumpled tissues falling to the floor.

Eames moaned.

"There had better be snot in those," Arthur grumbled, realizing what was going on.

"Urrgh," Eames said into the pillow, "I feel bloody awful, darling."

Arthur sank into the desk chair, the adrenaline crash making him feel shaky. He let out a breathy laugh. "God, you're the fucking worst."

Eames snuffled miserably and peeked a watery eye out at Arthur. "I'm truly dying. I can feel it."

Arthur sighed. "Eames…"

"There's a bright light."

"That's the lamp."

"I can feel myself slipping away."

"Ugh, if only."

"Remember me fondly, darling."

"Eames. It's a cold." Arthur redialed his phone. "Alex? False alarm. Everything's fine. Sorry. I'll call you later. Yeah. Bye." He looked pointedly at Eames.

Eames only blinked at him blearily. "The bacteria are taking me towards the light."

"It's a virus."

"The virus is taking me towards the light."

Arthur sighed but couldn't help the tiny smile of relief.

Eames' eyes crinkled in response. At least, what Arthur could see of them, buried in the pillow. His voice was soft when he asked, "Did you come to rescue me, darling?"

Arthur stood and pulled the blanket back over Eames, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing the fringe of hair off Eames' forehead to check for a fever. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Eames closed his eyes and hummed in response. "My hero."


End file.
